Catherine was sitting in bed, her damp hair piled on her head in a messy bun, reading. Steve smiled as he slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Did you get everyone settled?" she asked, smiling back at him.

"I think so . . . " Steve sighed. "Rebecca is really shaken up. I should have thought about what all of this - she's a civilian, Catherine, she was recruited by the CIA but she's a nurse, not an agent, not a SEAL, not intelligence."

"She should probably see someone," Catherine said, nodding. "Did you ever get Riley set up with the doctor I recommended, the one at Pearl?"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "No. We meant to but . . . shit. Everyone who comes into my orbit seems to need professional care after, Catherine."

"It's not on you, Steve, it's on WoFat," Catherine said firmly. "Take a long, hot shower, and get some sleep. I bet everything will seem better in the morning. Come on, you have to be exhausted."

He nodded mournfully. "And Riley has a white noise machine and everything . . . " he mumbled, as he headed into the bathroom.

"I'll take a raincheck, sailor," Catherine said, laughing. She put away her book and turned all the lights in the room off, except the soft lamp on his bedside table.

He came out of the bathroom yawning and rubbing his hair dry with a small towel, a pair of worn gym shorts slung low on his hips. He tossed the towel behind him onto the bathroom counter and slid, groaning gratefully, into the bed, flicking off the light.

Catherine could sense him staring into the dark room, tension still radiating from his body. She slid next to him and nestled her head on his shoulder, his arm going around her to pull her close.

"You're not going to figure it out tonight, Steve," she said. Her fingers trailed up his cheek and then rubbed gently at the little furrow of concentration she knew she'd find on his forehead. "Get some rest."

He sighed and closed his eyes, submitting to her gentle touch.

#*#*#*#*#

Riley woke up early. Very early, if the dim light was any indication, and the fact that there was no sound in the rest of the house. She fumbled through her bathroom routine, joints stiff and muscles uncooperative. Rummaging through a small suitcase that had been placed in her room, she was pleased to find soft, comfortable clothes. Within moments, she had dressed and slipped out the back door.

She made her way carefully, almost painfully, down the steep slope at the back of the house and to the level clearing below. The grass was still soaked with heavy dew, but a rock had already almost dried in the gentle breeze and earliest light, so she settled there, closing her eyes and resting her upturned palms on her knees. Within moments, she was able to ignore the discomfort in her stiff joints as she steadied her breathing.

Inside the house, Catherine stirred sleepily as Steve slipped out of the bed. He had been wide awake in a split second when he heard Riley's door open, and when he heard the back door open and close, had decided to go investigate.

"Sleep," he whispered, bending over and pressing a kiss to Catherine's forehead. "It's very early. Just checking on Riley."

He looked out the back window of the house and saw her, sitting motionless on the flat rocky outcropping, and decided there was plenty of time to brew some tea. He smiled to himself as he turned on the kettle, remembering their hike with Danny, when she'd said that Frank had taught her some anger management practices. He thought of his own temper as a young teenager, and wondered if she'd been a similar handful of restless energy and boundless sarcasm. Their mother had conveniently avoided some of the most challenging years of their upbringing.

The gentle whistle of the kettle interrupted his thoughts, and he grabbed it off the burner quickly, not wanting to wake the others.

The back porch of the house was narrower than the front, and smaller, but there were two simple chairs. Steve ignored them for the moment and leaned on the porch railing, his tea steaming next to his elbow. He watched, fascinated, as Riley stood - carefully, stiffly, revealing just how much of a toll the deadly virus had taken on her body - and started reaching and stretching through a series of movements. It looked vaguely similar to what he would have recognized as a kata in most martial arts, but he couldn't place it. He tilted his head, watching. He'd eliminated Tai Chi and Taekwondo as options by the time he felt Joe at his elbow.

"Your work?" Steve asked softly, knowing that Riley could likely hear him anyway.

Joe grinned and shook his head. "The monks. She's moving through a hyeong. Hapkido."

Steve's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Joe. "No shit?" he murmured. "I thought she was trained in aikido."

Joe turned and faced the house, shaking his head again. "She was," he said softly. "Before she even got to the monastery. I think she prefers the hapkido now."

Steve nodded, pressing his lips together. Their mother, of course, had trained Riley in aikido. Joe had mentioned it before. But now, as Riley was trying to recover, regain her strength . . . she turned to what she'd learned later, in a remote monastery on the side of a mountain in North Korea - not to her childhood training.

Joe reached out and squeezed Steve's shoulder, gently. "You should join her. Good for mobility, you know, as you get older."

Steve snorted, but handed Joe his tea cup and made his way down the stairs and across the grass. He assumed Riley could hear him approach, but still - if she was concentrating . . .

"Hey, kiddo," he called out softly as he approached.

"Hi," she said, wincing as a movement twinged the tender muscles in her back.

"Joe says this is a hyeong," Steve said. "The monks taught you hapkido?"

She stopped, stretching one arm with the other. "Yeah. Aikido really needs two people. There aren't forms for one person. It's a practice that assumes you have a sparring partner. Joe's right, I prefer the hapkido. The kicks are lower, too, more" - she gestured with her arm - "sweeping."

"So, better if your opponent has a height or weight advantage," Steve said.

"Yes. The monks actually thought about that," she said, a trace of bitterness edging into her voice.

"Hey, come'ere," Steve said, reaching out and pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry. She should have thought of a lot of things that she didn't."

"It's okay," Riley said, but he could feel the tension in her muscles. "I'm just . . . I feel all weird, like I don't fit in my own body right now. I thought it would help . . ."

"Did it?" Steve asked.

She shrugged and he released her gently, making sure she had solid footing on the soft grass.

"Take your time, don't overdo it," he cautioned. "But seems to me, this is a good way to build your strength back up. And Riley - when you're ready? I can hold my own with aikido. I'll practice with you."

"Yeah?" she said, smiling up at him. "Okay. Or we could just . . . you know. Go for it, sparring. No rules."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"When I'm better," she clarified. "I want to see. I want to see what my limits are. I could hear you and Joe talking, up there. I know that's not normal." She turned and looked out over the dense forest stretching out below them. "I don't think I can see further, though . . . but we could check. If my vision is enhance, you could train me as a sniper -"

"Riley," he said, more sharply than he'd intended. God, that was the last thing he wanted for his baby sister, a life as a sniper . . . if the SAD got their hooks into her, he might never see her again . . . he rubbed a hand over his face.

"Riley," he tried again, more gently this time. "It's . . . that's not a life I'd wish for anyone."

"Kono can handle a sniper rifle," Riley said. "I know. I've seen reports, working on the database."

"Kono can indeed handle a sniper rifle," Steve replied. "She's good, damn good. But she works for Five-O, for me. No other group is going to try to take her and . . . I just don't think it's safe for you."

She looked disappointed, and he cast around frantically in his mind for a compromise.

"Flight simulator," he blurted. He paused, double-checked his logic . . . sure, why not. "I think your reflexes are exceptional, and you said you liked flying Tangerine with Frank, right?"

"Yeah, it was great," she said.

"Okay, so I bet we can get the Navy's best training program loaded onto that computer," he said, gesturing toward the house, "and you and I can log some simulator time while you recover."

"Really?"

"Even Danny would approve," Steve said.

Riley smiled. "Danny . . . " she said, laughing. "What does Danny do? Hapkido would work well for him."

"It would," Steve laughed. "You should offer to teach him. Danny . . . we actually spar together in jiu jitsu, but . . . I think they teach street brawling in Jersey. He fights dirty. It's awesome."

"Close quarter combat training," Riley murmured. "They teach that in Jersey, or is that just a Joe thing?"

Steve sighed.

"I tried, you know? When I was with Joe, when he took me from the house, to try to set it up to look like your father was Shelburne, and WoFat's thugs came after us . . . I thought, between me and Joe - but he kept shoving me behind him. Stupid. And then once they took him out . . . they said they'd leave him alive, if I cooperated," she said quietly.

Steve reached out and took her hand in his.

"I didn't believe them," she continued. "I was afraid they'd kill him anyway. So, I kept fighting, until . . . I don't know, it got fuzzy there at the end."

"There were only two left standing," Steve said. "And from what we could tell, it took the two of them to drag you into the van. You probably did save Joe's life, Riley, by sheer stubbornness."

"He picked a damn stupid time to try to protect me," she said, shaking her head. "We might have been able to take them, the two of us. You think he'll try again?"

"Joe?" Steve asked.

"No. WoFat."

"Yeah," Steve said reluctantly. "Yeah, I think WoFat and the Yakuza are going to try again. And I think this new faction, The Elders, are going to try. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Riley."

She laughed until he was insulted.

"What?" he demanded. "You think I can't protect you?"

"I mean . . . so far . . ." she dissolved into a fit of honest-to-goodness giggles.

Steve stared at her, dumbfounded, until he felt the corners of his mouth twitch in spite of himself. He shook his head and chuckled.

"Okay, point taken," he said. "But I will do everything in my power to protect you, Riley."

She was silent for a moment.

"Within limits, within reason," she said, finally. "Not . . . not if it risks anyone else's safety. Yours, Mary's, the team . . . I mean it, Steve. You don't - I don't want you to choose me, if a choice needs to be made."

He felt a chill go up his spine, and the wind moving through the trees suddenly sounded ominous and unfriendly.

"Riley, I - you can't -"

"Yeah, I can," she said, smiling at him. She gestured toward the house. "Of all of them, I'm the one that was trained to get it, right? To get making the impossible choice. And I'm telling you, choose any one of them over me, every time. You think - do you think I would want to live if I knew it was at the expense of any of them?"

He reached out and snagged her in a hug, pulling her close to him and cradling her head in the crook of his neck.

"I know," he murmured. "I know, kid. Sorry, I know you're not -"

"No, I like it," she said. "It's . . . you would have called me that. If . . . if things had been different."

"Yeah, I probably would have," he said.

"After all," she said, pulling back and smirking at him, her lopsided grin a mirror image of his own. "You're technically old enough to -"

"Okay, that's it," he said, pointing at her and trying to look stern, while she laughed.

It was, he decided, a sound he wanted to hear a lot more often.

#*#*#*#*#

Danny stretched and winced. The sofa was, arguably, more comfortable than Steve's - but that wasn't saying much. He stumbled to the hallway bathroom and made himself presentable, then went in search of coffee.

Rebecca was in the kitchen, setting up the coffee pot.

"Oh, God bless you," Danny said fervently.

She jumped, completely startled at the sound of his voice. Coffee grounds spilled across the counter.

"Hey, hey - whoa," he said, crossing the kitchen quickly. "I'm sorry, Becca, geez, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," she said, forcing a shaky laugh. She turned away from him and grabbed a cloth to wipe up the mess, but he wasn't buying it.

"Rebecca," he murmured. "Come'ere." He put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped again, then buried her face in her shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

His arms wrapped around her, one hand stroking gently over her still messy curls.

"I think you probably do," he said. "Do you need me to take you home, Rebecca?"

"No. No, I'll be fine," she insisted. "I'm here to take care of Riley, I just -"

Danny steered her to the table and they sat down. He covered her hands with his and smiled at her.

"It's not my first rodeo, Rebecca," he said. "Now, the McGarrett clan, it's hardwired into their DNA to deny having any feelings. They're fine, they're always fine."

Rebecca chuckled.

"I don't know how your family handled things. But the Williams," Danny said, grinning, "you see, the Williams, they talk. They talk - well, about everything, all the things, obviously - but also about feelings. And experiences. So, this, this here, you gotta talk about it. That's just how it works, you hang around me. Unless you don't want to hang around me."

"I like hanging around you just fine, Danny," she said.

"Well, that is good to know," Danny said. "So, I'm gonna make us a pot of coffee, and you're gonna tell me if you got any sleep last night."

Rebecca sighed as Danny easily cleaned up the spilled coffee and set up the coffee pot.

"Not much," she admitted quietly.

Danny nodded and pulled two mugs out of the cabinet. He placed them next to the coffee maker, and turned to face Rebecca.

"You have trouble getting to sleep, or staying asleep?" he asked.

She thought about that for a moment. "Um . . . yes," she said.

"You coulda let me know," Danny said.

"What, so you could hold my hand until I fell asleep, chase the monsters away?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," Danny said. There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice. "Becca, you think you're alone in this? What you went through, in that bunker, in getting Riley and Steve out, and to safety, that was harrowing. Your life was in danger. Their lives were in danger. There's no one who would fault you for struggling with that."

"Danny, you don't understand, I - I was an active participant, I -" Rebecca stopped short, pressing her hand against her mouth.

The back door opened and Riley rushed into the kitchen, Steve entering more slowly behind her.

"No!" she said, her long stride carrying her straight to Rebecca. She stood in front of her, fists clenched. "No, you were - you told me to hang on. I remember. I remember your eyes, over your mask. Your eyes were kind, and you told me to hang on, as long as I could. I remember your voice, when Steve found me. You led us out of the bunker and you . . . you saved our lives, Rebecca. Nothing, none of it was your fault. I thought - I thought she was going to kill you. Or send someone in to kill you. You wouldn't give me that shot, that last one, that -"

"That drug to force you into consciousness, that allowed you to experience unthinkable pain," Rebecca said. "No, but I was part of the program that did, and someone else simply came behind me, and -"

"Someone else," Riley said. "Not you. And you stayed with us, after, until I was better and - I'll never be able to thank you. But if being here, if being around me is a reminder - Steve, you can get her set up, wherever she wants, right? You could do that. The Navy owes her that, we owe her that, she -"

"Yeah," Steve said. "Of course."

"I'm fine. I'm sorry, it's too much, no one should have asked you to be here, it's too much to ask," Riley said. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were feverishly bright.

Rebecca stood up and pressed her hand against Riley's cheek.

"No, it's not too much," she said softly. "In fact . . . maybe it's exactly what I needed, to face some of . . . Riley, I am so, so terribly sorry for what you've been through, and for my part in it. It . . . it means the world to me that what you remember is that, once I realized what was happening, I did what little I could."

"You did everything you could," Steve said. "None of us ever doubted that . . . but I've been remiss in addressing what it cost you. Rebecca, I know you probably have access to good care at Tripler, but . . . the Navy has people who specialize in PTSD, in combat trauma -"

"Combat, no, that's -" Rebecca started to protest.

"Yeah, it's exactly that," Steve said. "Whatever you need, Rebecca. If you're more comfortable asking Catherine . . . whatever you need, whenever you need it. No questions asked, no expense spared. I mean it."

Rebecca put her hands over her face. "I'm supposed to be here to care for Riley, she's recovering -"

Steve put a hand on her shoulder.

"I think we all are, Rebecca," he said quietly. He looked at Danny. "There was a time in my life that it never would have crossed my mind that I needed time and space to recover. But my family, my ohana, is teaching me that I do, and that it's okay. And this place . . . "

Riley beamed. The mountain house was, technically, hers. "This place is special, and it's for recovering," she said. "And also, Steve is going to teach me to use a flight simulator, you want to try it too?"

Rebecca laughed and shook her head. "Okay, slow down there, speed racer. You look like you may have already overdone it a bit today. Let's go get you checked out, and then I need a nice shower and a few moments to pull myself together from an embarrassing display of . . . well, whatever this has been. We'll talk about the suitability of flight, simulated or otherwise, once you don't look so feverish." She arched a brow at Steve as she ushered a reluctant Riley toward the hall.

"Flight simulator," Danny said, narrowing his eyes at Steve.

"She wanted to discuss training as a sniper," Steve said, folding into a kitchen chair. "So I came up with a compromise. Rebecca - you think she's okay, Danny?"

"I think she will be," Danny said. He looked around the simple, streamlined kitchen. It felt as if they were a world away from Honolulu. "I agree, this place is special . . . and if you think we could have a day - a day, Steven, which is not too much to ask - for everyone to just chill the hell out, just breathe again, maybe it will be a start."

"But Danny, WoFat and -"

"A day, Steven," Danny said, jabbing a finger into Steve's chest. "A damn day. It's called R&R. It's a big deal in the Army, I'm sure you've heard of it."

"The Navy, Danny, the Navy . . . "

#*#*#*#*#

Danny, as it turned out, could be very persuasive. He started with pancakes.

"Well, sure, now that you've filled us with processed sugar and refined carbohydrates, we are too tired to make any progress on . . ." Steve said, yawning.

"Progress on what, exactly?" Danny demanded. He gestured around the spacious home. "Aside from Riley's get-up, there, in case you haven't noticed - this isn't Five-O. Or Pearl-Hickam. This is a place - as we've already established - for rest and relaxation. And recovery, for those recently ill, injured, and exhausted." He pointed at everyone in turn - Riley, Joe, Steve and Catherine, and Rebecca.

"And you?" Catherine said, smiling at him fondly.

"I - I am the voice of reason," Danny said. "And now, I reason that the skillet can soak, and we can adjourn to the living room. I can't believe Riley's never experienced the marvel that is Die Hard."

"Wildly inaccurate, the physics simply don't -" Steve started to complain.

"It's not watched for accuracy," Danny said. "It's mindless entertainment."

"Truly," Catherine agreed, raising an eyebrow.

"I love the Die Hard series," Rebecca said happily, pouring herself another generous cup of coffee. "And Riley definitely needs to rest. I think a movie marathon is just the ticket."

Joe stood up abruptly and stalked out the back door.

"Go ahead, start the movie," Steve said quietly. "Let me talk to him. This is . . . I'm not disagreeing, Danny, that we all need a break. But Joe and I are . . . well, it's difficult to take a civilian approach to the situation, that's all."

Steve caught up with Joe at the bottom of the stairs. He was pacing back and forth in the grass, the sky rumbling with thunder overhead.

"Joe, look, I know this is -" Steve started.

"She's wearing fuzzy socks," Joe said abruptly.

Steve gaped at him a moment.

"Riley. She's wearing those -" Joe gestured toward his feet. "Those fluffy, fuzzy socks, like I've seen Catherine wear when she's off duty. And pajama pants, with . . . with little ducks on them."

"Kono packed a bag for her," Steve said quietly.

"She looks . . . like a young college student. Like she should. Like she always should have . . ." Joe trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. "I look at her and . . . I see your mother. I see - oh, hell. I think maybe I just see what I want to see."

"Joe . . . " Steve said.

"Did you test it? The DNA? My DNA?" Joe demanded.

Steve shook his head. "We haven't."

"Damn. If you do, now . . . if it comes back - I'll never be able to justify staying in charge of the program, you know that, right?" Joe asked. He started pacing again. "They'll say there's no objectivity, that I'm too close, that there's a conflict of interest."

Steve folded his arms over his chest and waited Joe out.

"You can't check now," Joe said, finally, stopping and staring out over the trees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever introduced the doubt . . . I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry. I wanted - I want -"

"You would want the DNA to say that you're her father," Steve said softly.

"You're full siblings, Steve," Joe said, still not looking at him. "That much we know. Not just Riley's father, I want . . . " He stopped, shook his head again. "Just as well. She'll likely never forgive me as it is . . . you either, I expect."

"Joe, look -" Steve started.

"You saw, Steve, you saw the evidence of what I did to her," Joe said bitterly. "For God and country, or so I was told."

"She doesn't hold it against you, Joe," Steve said. "And I . . . I don't, not anymore. Just . . . we can just let it go, Joe. What's done is done. We go from here."

"Well, and if that's not an argument for John McGarrett's DNA, I don't know what is," Joe said. "Go on, go back and . . . let them think I'm out here plotting military strategy, though, yeah? Give an old man his dignity?"

"Joe, so help me if you bail out on her now," Steve said, his voice low in warning.

"I just need a minute, Steve," Joe said. "Please."

Steve reluctantly went back inside, as thunder rumbled more ominously overhead. Danny and Rebecca had claimed a loveseat, while Catherine and Riley were each curled into a corner of the sofa.

"There's a storm," Riley said. She looked up at him, her cheeks pale now, and she twisted a light blanket in her hands.

"Yeah, it's brewing up a little weather," Steve said. The opening credits started to flash across the screen.

"Where's Joe?" Riley asked.

Steve sat down between them, wrapping an arm around Catherine and reaching out to squeeze Riley's hand. "He'll be inside in a few minutes."

Riley nodded and pretended to watch the movie, but Steve could see her stealing glances toward the back of the house. Just as the first heavy drops of rain began to hit the roof, the back door opened and closed, and Joe slipped in. He stood awkwardly in the space between the dining room and living room.

"You haven't missed too much," Riley said. She slid closer to Steve and patted the sofa cushion next to her.

Joe glanced at Steve and then went and sat down next to Riley. She took his hand in hers, tracing gently over his gnarled fingers.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," she whispered. She didn't let go of his hand.